Haunted
by Catmint
Summary: Seeing a loved one deep in depression with a dagger to their wrist is terrifying. This is the situation Arwen is faced with. Merry also features significantly. Please read and review.


Haunted

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Disclaimer: Not my characters. Property of Tolkien/etc.

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A/N 1: This is my first LOTR fanfic, so please be kind. Apologies if they seem OOC- although given the circumstances, is it so surprising? Flames will be collected and used to toast marshmallows.

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A/N 2: Thankyou to Rebecca F, who read this before I posted it and approved, so this is dedicated to her.

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Arwen slipped out of the room where her son Eldarion had challenged his three sisters to a duel. The quartet were shrieking and laughing, blissfully ignorant of their mother's anxious mind. Only she knew that all was not well with their father, Aragorn, king of Gondor.

"Mother?"

She stopped and turned. Eldarion stood in front of her, his dark hair messy, face red from exertion and laughter, and clothes rumpled. She noticed a gash on his cheek that had not been there before and she pointed it out to him.

Eldarion scowled. "Gilraen has little desire to fight fairly, Mother. And – and Father plays with us no more."

"Battles, my son, are not fair. Your father, of all those in Middle Earth, can tell you that."

Eldarion hesitated. "Where were you going?"

"Eldarion, please. Go back to your sisters."

"But Mother –"

"_Please_."

Eldarion fell silent, recognising the firm, final tone in his mother's voice, and returned to the room from where he had come. Arwen turned and continued on her journey, almost running by the time she reached her and her husband's bedroom. She slowed and hesitantly pushed the door open, suddenly anxious about what she might find. Aragorn was standing with his back to the window, leaning wearily against the wall, as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes were dull and haunted, and he had clearly not heard Arwen's arrival.

But it was the dagger he held in his hands that caused Arwen to freeze. Its extremely sharp blade glittered cruelly, maliciously, already bearing the red blood of the race of Men. Arwen looked away from the blade to Aragorn's arms. She was shocked at what she saw. There were a number of bleeding gashes on them, clearly all deliberately self-inflicted, done in the last half-hour or so. As Arwen watched, still frozen in horror and disbelief, Aragorn slowly raised the dagger to his wrist.

Arwen came back into focus and tore across the room, her left hand closing tightly around the right wrist that held the dagger. "Give me the dagger, Estel," she whispered pleadingly, using the name her father had given Aragorn many years ago.

Aragorn raised his head with difficulty, as though the action required almost too much effort, meeting her eyes. Arwen wanted to cry from the sheer amount of pain she saw in them. "The dagger, Estel," she repeated, gripping his wrist tighter.

Aragorn shook his head. "Leave me be. Please." 

"Eldarion says you never play with him and his sisters now."

"I'm tired, Arwen. Tired. All the time. It is too hard to find the energy to play with them." He looked away, down at the floor.

"For how long have you felt this tiredness?" Arwen was almost afraid of the answer he would give.

"Too long. Please. Go. I did not plan on having an audience."

"The dagger, Estel. Why? Why are you so weary of heart? I know you are. You are quiet, withdrawn … Merry is attempting to govern Gondor alongside Faramir while they are here visiting, as you have not left this room, but Merry is no natural leader, and Faramir has other responsibilities. Talk to me. Please."

"How could you understand?" whispered Aragorn. "My mind and my heart are weary. Too weary. The pain is too much to bear sometimes … most of the time, if not all."

"I cannot possibly understand if you do not share it with me," replied Arwen. "Speak to me, and it may ease the pain. The dagger will not do so. Please, give it to me."

"The pain is mine, Arwen, not yours, and thus I must bear it alone – something I learned many years ago while I was still a Ranger. It has grown too much of late, and I can bear it no longer."

"But you are alone no longer, Estel. I will willingly bear your pain with you if it means you suffer less." Arwen was saying the first thing that came to mind, anything that would get Aragorn to get rid of the cruel weapon in his hand.

"Leave me be, Evenstar." Arwen flinched at his cold, dull tone. "Your father did not desire our union; his tone and eyes told me all I needed to know. He deemed me unworthy of his precious daughter."

This again surfaces, thought Arwen sadly. Her father had openly disapproved of the love she and Aragorn had borne for each other, and she knew that it frequently troubled Aragorn, a thought that could not be banished from his mind, no matter how hard they both tried. "My father deems _every_ potential partner for his children unworthy. Everyone from the lowliest Orc to the kindest, bravest, most powerful being in Middle Earth … All would be unworthy. _Nobody_ is good enough for him – although I believe he would have preferred me to remain with my own kind."

"He told me as much," admitted Aragorn, the coldness now replaced with anger.

Arwen placed her free right hand gently to her husband's cheek. "But you forget. I loved you then, Estel, and that love has not diminished. Not in the slightest."

Aragorn turned his face away, forcing Arwen's hand to drop. "Please, do not do this to me. It will serve only to make the end harder."

"_Good_! Estel, I love you with all of my being! Forget my father, for he is gone from this land, over the Sea, and his opinion on my choice of husband is of no importance. I need you. The children need you – Eldarion needs his father. Gondor needs you."

Aragorn laughed bitterly. "_Needs_, Evenstar? Only ever _needs_?"

"And wants. And loves. Eldarion misses you. He wants his father to teach him duelling. Faramir is a skilled swordsman, but he is poor in comparison to you. Give me the dagger, Estel. _Please_."

Aragorn met her eyes again and slowly, wearily, nodded. The dagger fell from his hand and he allowed Arwen to lead him to the bed, where she sat him down and lightly kissed him on the forehead, before retrieving the dagger from the floor and slipping it into her pocket. She went to the door, eyes hardly leaving Aragorn's still figure, and caught the attention of a maid. She requested warm water, cloths and bandages, and the maid hurried away. Arwen returned to Aragorn and knelt down in front of him, taking his hands in her own. Her heart ached with sadness, and she sensed the pain and despair that Aragorn was feeling. He had still not moved, and the two remained so until the maid arrived and quickly departed.

Arwen gently cleaned the cuts, which were not very deep and would leave little scarring. She was thankful for this, knowing that had the scarring been obvious, it would probably have caused severe damage to Aragorn's already fragile mental state. She carefully bandaged his arms and took the basin outside the room, cringing at the sight of the red-tinted water. She returned to her husband, this time sitting beside him on the bed, placing one of her hands over his and slipping the other arm around his slumped shoulders. "Why are you in so much pain, Estel?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I cannot, Arwen. The pain is not yours to bear. I cannot burden you with it."

"The pain _will_ be mine; a thousandfold, if you do not."

"How so?"

"The pain is so great that you were prepared – nay, _willing_ – to end your life because of it. I would rather be burdened with your pain than with the grief that comes to a widowed woman with four children, whether Queen of Gondor or lowest farmer's wife." She drew him into her and kissed the top of his head, caring little about the tears that were slowly slipping down her cheeks.

"Mother? Father? What has happened?"

Arwen raised her head. "Eldarion."

"What has happened? Mother, you're crying!"

"Not now. Please. Go back to your sisters."

"I lost the battle. They all attacked me at once. That's not fair!"

"It will do you good. I have told you before that battles are not fair."

"What has happened to Father?"

"He is ill, my child."

"It makes a change from him being too tired. But I want him to teach me how to be the best swordsman possible, and Faramir and Merry are not as skilled as Father!"

Arwen smiled slightly. "You see?" she whispered to Aragorn. "Your son wants you." She raised her head. "Perhaps you should make yourself presentable, Eldarion, and get that cut on your face treated."

"Can't you do it? And can you talk to Gilraen? She did it to me."

"No. I need to be with your father. It is likely you will not see us for several days."

"Can we not visit?"

"In a few days you may. I will send for you when your father is well enough."

Eldarion nodded and left, one hand over his cut cheek, muttering something about his sisters. Arwen buried her face in Aragorn's unruly dark hair, which had grown dull and limp of late.

After a few minutes, Aragorn pulled away. "Why did you stop me?" He gazed blankly at the wall, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Do you want me to suffer more pain, Evenstar?"

"How long have you been in such pain?"

Aragorn shrugged. "Longer than I can remember. I have seen more in half of my lifetime than most ever would in fifty lifetimes."

"Seen more of what?" Her hand strayed to the pocket in which the blood-stained dagger still lay, and she withdrew her hand from it instantly, as though it had hurt her.

"Pain … suffering … illness … loss … war … despair … grief … I have lost close friends – every time I look upon Faramir I am reminded of his late brother Boromir … In the eyes of Merry, Pippin and Sam I see the horrors of the Scouring of the Shire … All the battles I have ever fought in have come back to haunt me constantly … Sleep is elusive, and I am troubled when it does come … I had no choice in my ruling of Gondor, or in my heritage … I am not worthy of you…" He broke off, tears streaming down his own cheeks now.

Arwen took him in her arms and comforted him while he wept. It troubled her to see this great man in such distress, but the heavy weight on her heart was lifted slightly, now that Aragorn had begun to talk. He had spent so much time on his own, in the wilderness, that he sometimes struggled to accept help, or even recognise that he needed it.

Make that frequently_ struggles to recognise or accept help_, thought Arwen wryly. _Being so self-sufficient brings its own problems_.

Eventually Aragorn ceased to weep, and he moved away from his wife. "I am tired," he said quietly.

"You look weary," agreed Arwen gently. She helped him change from his day clothes and then eased him into bed. She sat on the side of the bed, her hand over his, kissed his forehead and sang to him softly in Elvish. She did not notice her two eldest daughters, Gilraen (named for Aragorn's own mother) and Ivorwen (named for Aragorn's maternal grandmother), briefly appear in the doorway. Gilraen ushered her younger sister away and quietly closed the door.

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That night, Arwen cleaned the dagger of Aragorn's blood, weeping as she did so from the pain of realising that her husband had wanted to die, and also from his pain. She sent for Meriadoc Brandybuck, as she did not dare leave Aragorn unattended even briefly, when she had completed the task.

"What is it you want of me, Lady Arwen?" asked the hobbit from the doorway.

Arwen handed him the weapon that had injured her soul. "Please ensure that this dagger is removed from Aragorn's sight, Master Brandybuck," she requested, kneeling so her face was level with that of the child-sized 'halfling'.

"Is it poisoned?" asked Merry nervously, reluctant to take it.

Arwen shook her head. "Not as such. But Aragorn's mind and heart are gravely troubled, and I fear he may be haunted by memories if he lays eyes upon this particular weapon again."

Merry looked worried as he glanced over to Aragorn's sleeping form, noticing the bandages around his friend's arms. "He – he tried to take his own life?"

Arwen bowed her head. "Very nearly, my Shire-friend. It was fortunate that I found him when I did. Otherwise, my children would have become fatherless, and Eldarion would have been forced to take on the role of King of Gondor – not a task for one so young."

"You – you said 'very nearly'?"

"He did not have the opportunity to make any dangerous cut in his veins – although I was not early enough to prevent him from inflicting a number of shallow cuts upon his arms. 

"Please, Merry. I can bear the sight of this dagger no longer."

"Shall – shall I have it destroyed?"

Arwen shook her head. "It was a gift to him from an Elf, a long time ago – too high in quality for me to be able to bear requesting its destruction. I would like you to have it as your own – with one condition."

"What is that?"

"That you ensure that Aragorn never sets eyes upon it. Can you promise me that, Shire-friend?"

Merry nodded. "I can that, but it needs a sheath. I cannot wear it, especially if it is to be hidden from view, for fear of accidentally injuring myself, for I know that Elvish blades are extremely sharp."

Arwen smiled gratefully at him. "I am in your debt, Master Brandybuck. Now go to the weapon-makers, and request the sheath. Say no more than that, and speak not a word to anyone, even Faramir, and Aragorn will be troubled no further by the dagger. Never mention it to me again."

Merry took the dagger solemnly. "I hope Aragorn recovers soon."

Arwen sighed sadly. "I do not believe that that can happen. He is deeply unhappy, and has been so for a long, long time. I am not hopeful about his mind and soul healing completely. Even when our children were born – such happy occasions! – there was a shadow of sadness in his eyes."

Merry bowed his head as Arwen kissed the top of it lightly, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

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Arwen and Aragorn spent the next week together in their room, with only Merry as the occasional visitor, to bring meals and, as it was late November, to check the fire and sort it out if necessary. He was always quiet and efficient, never speaking. Arwen sang sometimes, sometimes sad songs, sometimes more uplifting ones (Merry could determine this from the sounds of the songs, rather than the Elvish words, as he knew very little of the language). Both Arwen and Aragorn wept, sometimes together, sometimes separately. Aragorn wept often, for long periods of time. Arwen spoke rarely, listening to Aragorn as he told her the troubles of his heart and mind. Merry kept the dagger on a belt, tucked inside his trousers and out of sight.

On the eighth day, Arwen awoke to find Aragorn already risen and gazing out of the window. She felt her heart lift and its load lighten – it was the first time that he had got out of bed without needing her assistance. "Good morning," she greeted him, getting out of bed and hastily pulling a cloak around herself, as it was cold and the fire had gone out during the night.

Aragorn turned. "Good morning," he replied. He still looked very down and troubled, but it was slightly less so.

"You seem better," observed Arwen, taking his hand.

Aragorn inclined his head to one side. "The pain is less this morning – though do not be mistaken; it still weighs heavily on my heart." He hesitated. "The dagger – what has become of it?"

Arwen shook her head and placed a finger across his lips. "It is of no concern. Why do you ask, Estel?"

"Because I know that I cannot lay eyes upon it again if I do not desire to take my own life."

"It is dealt with," Arwen assured him. "You shall never see it again."

Aragorn smiled in relief. _The first time he has smiled in months_, Arwen thought sadly. She immediately banished the sadness from her mind and smiled also. "I am glad to see your smile. It has been sorely missed, these last months."

Aragorn nodded. "Thankyou. For giving me back hope."

"You _are_ hope, Aragorn son of Arathorn. 'Estel'. Surely you have not forgotten the meaning of a word in the language which is as natural to you as your own tongue?" asked Arwen teasingly.

"You understand my meaning."

"I do." Arwen embraced him tightly and this time, her tears were those of joy instead of sadness and pain, as were his. She knew that that lowest point would never be reached again. Aragorn was finally beginning to heal.

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~ END ~


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